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“Yeah.” Rachael made a deliberate clinky sound with her own wineglass. “There’s a reason I’ve never been called into the Old Bailey as an expert witness. So, now you’ve got up close and personal with some real-life murders, has it changed the way you feel about the show at all?”

Murder Most Actual was never the most scripted of podcasts; the audience liked the informal vibe that came from its being mostly improvised, but this was the first time in her recording career that Liza genuinely had no idea what she was going to say. “Not really. Does that make me awful?”

“Girl, there are loads of things that make you awful, but that ain’t one of them.”

Liza laughed. “Like, don’t get me wrong, it’s way scarier when you’re there. We’ve looked at some pretty awful crime scene photos in the past, and something I hope you listeners out there feel we’ve kept sight of is that every victim—and every killer—we’ve ever talked about is a real person with people who cared about them. But when you’re really there you can’t possibly lose sight of it. I think part of the reason I went so puzzle-box with the whole thing is that otherwise, the sheer terrible of it would have just overwhelmed me.”

Rachael made an encouraging go on sort of noise.

So, Liza went on. “The other thing I found weird is that—well—I guess I’ve always thought of crime as, I don’t know, complex but clean, if you get what I mean? Like, sure, there’s a lot of information and a ton of stuff to keep track of, but there’s right answers there if you look hard enough. Now I think maybe it’s simple but messy. Like I think Sir Richard probably killed his aunt. There’s pretty good evidence he did, but he swears he didn’t, and we’ll never actually know for sure. We just have to pick the answer that seems to make most sense to us. I suppose I used to see a crime as like a jigsaw puzzle. You keep putting the bits together, and finally, you get the picture.”

“And now?” asked Rachael.

“It’s more like a kaleidoscope. You keep turning and turning, and pieces keep falling into different places and making different patterns, but nobody tells you when to stop, and everybody’s going to see something different. One person will look at the evidence and say, ‘Yeah, that person definitely did it,’ and another will say, ‘Yeah, that person is definitely innocent.’ And it depends on who you are, and what your experiences are, and who you identify with, and … yeah, I guess it gave me a lot to think about.”

For a moment the broadcast fell quiet, then Rachael said: “But just to be clear, you still love wine, right?”

“Still love wine, still love hanging out with my bestie chattin’ ‘bout death. I’ve got a new perspective, but I’m not about to hang up my microphone just yet.”

“Fantastic. And that, listeners, brings us to the end of this extremely special episode of Murder Most Actual. As ever, we apologise to the three people who downloaded us thinking that the MMA Podcast was going to be about sweaty men fighting in cages, and remember that if you’ve backed us on Patreon at three dollars or higher, you’re invited to a live Q&A on our—”

* * *

Leaning forward on the bed, Liza stopped the playback of the episode. “What do you think?” she asked her wife.

Hanna had the same look of soft pride on her face she always had when they finished listening to the rough cut together. “I think you’re amazing. I don’t think I came out of it super well …”

“People will think you’re a badass. Also, now I’ve talked more about you on the show, people might stop shipping me and Rachael.”

“Or”—Hanna adjusted the pillow she was leaning on—”they’ll ship you even harder because once the wedding’s over, people find marriage intrinsically unhot and would rather see you run off with your spunky co-presenter.”

With a soft click, Liza folded the laptop closed and set it on the floor before turning back to more important matters. “I’m not running off with anybody. And marriage isn’t unhot, it’s just …”

Hanna gave her an ironic smile. “Simple, yet messy?”

Crawling up the bed, Liza straddled Hanna’s legs and wove her fingers through hers like they were playing a game of Mercy in the playground. “I’m not sure I want our marriage to be like a murder.”

“No? I do.”

Liza looked perplexed. “Okay, you might have to explain that one to me.”

“I only want it to end when one of us is dead.”

“Fuck, and I thought I was morbid.”

Adopting an expression of wounded innocence, Hanna gazed up at her. “I was saying I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Or for you to spend the rest of your life with me. That’s romantic.”

“Yeah, but you seemed weirdly indifferent about which came first.”

“I suppose now would be a bad time to tell you about the large insurance policy I just took out on you?”

“You’re a very silly woman, and I love you.” Liza bent forward, brought her lips to Hanna’s, and kissed her.

When they parted after a long moment, Hanna said, “It’s been ten years, and you are still the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. You’re also a surprisingly good detective.”

“I got lucky,” said Liza with semi-sincere modesty. “And I still can’t believe I missed the thing about Emmeline’s brother. In hindsight, that one was obvious.”

“Most things are, in hindsight. But most importantly, you got us out of there alive.”

“We got us out of there alive,” Liza corrected her. “And I am so glad we did. Because our life is actually pretty great.”

“Just pretty great?” asked Hanna. And then she kissed Liza again, quick and warm and slightly teasing.

“Okay, incredibly great.” They kissed once more, slower this time, and softer, and with a hundred quiet promises of tomorrow. “Hard work,” she added, “but great.”

She pressed into Hanna’s arms and kissed her one last time. And so, the kaleidoscope turned, colours cascading into jewel-bright patterns that mirrored out into a reflected eternity. Always changing, never repeating, and always wonderful.